Smarter
by White Rabbit3
Summary: In which the tale of Petra begins - with an orphanage, a naughty manager, a heated conversation, and a smarter kid.


"A girl, Graff? Are you sure?"  
  
"As ever, commander. Really, your sexist views offend me."  
  
"This coming from the man who rejected Valentine."  
  
"Valentine was too mild. She'd have been useless in battle." There was a pause on the phone-line as the speaker thought about something. "But Arkanian's nothing like Valentine. She's tough, commander. She'd sock Peter Wiggin in the face and think nothing of it."  
  
"I don't want to hear about Peter."  
  
"Fine. If not Peter, then Bonzo. Happy?"  
  
"Not quite. But it's clear you're not going to take no for an answer."  
  
"I never do."  
  
"You win. Request granted. Take the little girl up. And don't go running to me when she gets iced."  
  
"Thank you sir. You won't be disappointed."  
  
"I'd better not be."  
  
****  
  
"How about this one, sir?" The orphanage master was becoming impatient. The man was a little too picky for his standards.  
  
"C'mon. Wife wanted a boy. That's a girl."  
  
"I ain't. You bet I ain't." Paul started. This was the first time the girl behind the cage-like bars had talked.  
  
He leaned in closer to the wire, mocking her. "Oh, really?"  
  
She leaned forward too, bold eyes boring into his like tiny candle flames. "Yeah. Really."  
  
"Who am I addressing, may I ask?" God, even being around the little pipsqueak made him talk like he was having a conversation with flowers.  
  
"Name's Petra."  
  
"That's not a name, young lady." He was mocking her again, and this time she wouldn't have it.  
  
"Is too. Petra Arkanian." She kicked the rusted bars in frustration, dirty blonde hair blowing in the breeze. "An' stop talking t'me like I'm some eight year old softie who dresses dolls for fun."  
  
Paul grinned. "Oh, alright. I won't. How old are you, then?"  
  
"Six."  
  
"Ah." He smiled condescendingly. "Six. Tell me, then, what do you do all day, if you don't play with dolls?"  
  
"I can shoot. Master taught me how." The orphanage master coughed in embarrassment.  
  
Paul was slightly alarmed. "You can shoot, eh?"  
  
"Yeah. An' I'm a dead shot, too."  
  
"Oh dear. You really do act like a boy. A little too much so." He'd decided to be honest with her. Otherwise, he had the feeling she wouldn't even listen to him. He kind of wished she'd just go away, but that was too much to hope for. The thin little girl looked at him, pulling distractedly at her tattered shirt with one tiny hand.  
  
"'S cause I am one," she said honestly. The master laid a hand on Paul's shoulder, warning him not to push the matter. She'd learn in time. Hopefully.  
  
Paul squinted at her, ignoring the hand. "You sure?"  
  
"What if I'm not? And if I'm not a boy, then I'm not a girl either." She apparently failed to see why this would strike Paul as odd. Six year olds weren't exactly the most receptive group on the planet, Paul reasoned. Then it struck him that perhaps she did notice, and just didn't care.  
  
"What are you then, if you're not either one?"  
  
"Smart."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Smarter than you."  
  
He ignored that comment. "Then why should I take you home, Petra?"  
  
"Because you're nice." She grinned, but it was a sad grin, a little too aware that its hopes would be disappointed.  
  
"I am?" Paul was unprepared for compliments. This little Petra character didn't seem the type to give them out.  
  
"Nicer than me."  
  
"What if I wanted a nice little girl? Would you say you were nice, then? Would you be nice, then?"  
  
"Can you shoot?" She asked suddenly. "Do you have horses? Space to run? A good school?"  
  
Paul stepped back at the onslaught of questions. "No. Just an apartment." He paused and grinned. "But the wife makes good cherry tarts. And she has a doll collection."  
  
She looked disappointed. She scratched her head a moment, then made up her mind. "No, I don't think I would."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I wouldn't like to be the smartest person in the house. It'd be boring."  
  
"I see. Good-bye then." He moved on to the next cage, ignoring the way the light in her eyes went out. It had just been the breeze, he told himself. Breezes could put out any candle. Just a breeze. Breezes were like that. 


End file.
